


protect and serve

by naktoms



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, M/M, Rated mostly for language, tfw u almost die, tfw u get bullied by geoff ramsey, tfw u instantly have a crush on ur new partner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-04-29 04:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14465016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naktoms/pseuds/naktoms
Summary: The Los Santos Police Department is a joke. Aaron is determined to not be another punchline.





	1. the one where aaron embarrasses himself

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone long time no post  
> i finally got a blend of free time and motivation to write so here u go everyone!!!!!!!!  
> idk how long this is going 2 be... but im going to try and finish it i Promise. summer is soon ill have a lot of time to write then hehehe >:^)
> 
> anyway, kudos + comments are appreciated!! i hope u enjoy!!!

The Los Santos Police Department is a joke, and the thought that you will be different is a noble but dangerous one. That is to say, you will end up like the rest of them: with lined pockets and an easy day job, turning a blind eye to injustice, to the vast numbers of criminals that line the streets.

There are barely enough officers to keep the station from echoing, just enough to fill the halls with mumbling and footsteps. There’s just enough work done to keep the bulletin boards tacked up with notes scrawled on napkins and steno pad paper. The officers glance at their phones, play tic-tac-toe with each other or by themselves, anything to keep themselves from dying of boredom-- because the thing is, none of them work for the LSPD. All of them work for criminals, are criminals themselves, and this is a ruse, a sham, a facade. Day job.

_I will be different._

 

Aaron Marquis is finally free. Eight months of hell (police academy) and a year of probation (featuring Officer Ellis talking about his girlfriend at any opportunity, _gag_ ) later, and he is a police officer.

The LSPD has several departments within it: narcotics, patrol, intelligence, etcetera. Aaron gets slapped on patrol. Not the most exciting thing, prowling around for offenders, making sure nothing is fishy in the neighborhood. But, you know, it could be worse. So, patrol sounds good, but a consequence is that he has to have a partner.

Well, maybe not a consequence. Aaron figures that driving around all day and sitting in empty lots waiting for speeders would probably get mighty boring very quickly, so the chief hears no complaints from him. Maybe he’ll make a new friend.

So, on his second day of full-fledged police work, Chief Sorola pulls Aaron and his new partner into his office for introductions.

“Officer Marquis, this is Officer Chris Demarais,” the chief begins, gesturing between them. They share a look, and Aaron chances a polite smile. Chris returns it, shy. “Officer Demarais, this is Officer Aaron Marquis. He’s the one responsible for the big-ass coffee stain on the rug.”

“Hey, that’s not--”

Sorola cuts off Aaron’s indignation with a hand wave, continuing. “We’re putting you on patrol in Vinewood Hills. Relatively safe, recurrent vandalism and out of control parties are the only real concerns. Consider it an extension of your probationary period.”

Aaron can’t complain. He was hoping for relatively safe, hoping for an area where he could babysit rich people as opposed to facing gang violence. So, he cracks a wide smile and says, “Sounds great, Chief.”

He sees Chris glance at him quickly out of the corner of his eye before Chris follows up with his own affirmation. “Yeah. Thanks, Chief.”

Chief Sorola smiles and stands, prompting the other two to stand as well. “Great. You’ll start your patrol tomorrow, good luck.”

Handshakes are exchanged before Aaron and Chris exit the chief’s office. They walk together back towards the main office; it seems clear that Chris wants to say something, probably make some kind of small talk, so Aaron helps out.

“Vinewood Hills, huh?” Aaron says, kind smile returning. “You excited to be looking after rich kids with their heads shoved up their asses?”

Chris chuckles, seemingly nervous. “Yeah, I guess. Easy patrol, at least… was almost expecting it to be the South, no one wants to patrol there.”

Aaron nods thoughtfully. He shares the sentiment, but isn’t sure what else to say, so they part amicably for the day. _This shouldn’t be too bad_ , Aaron thinks to himself. _Nice patrol, nice partner, easy paycheck._ Nah. Not bad at all.

 

Aaron gets the feeling that Chris is-- well. Naive, maybe. Innocent. Has boldness and courage but none of the brawn to back it up, despite his large biceps. Aaron intends to change that. Maybe he’ll invite him to the gym, really tighten his glutes up (and no, Aaron was _not_ staring).

Aaron and Chris get a chance to get acquainted with their cruiser, a 2015 Dodge Charger in fantastic shape compared to the other cars in the fleet. Maybe they’re looking to impress all the new kids, as Aaron also finds that his friends Barb and Blaine, also newly partnered, have also received a Charger.

Aaron is placidly listening to Chris ramble about the last car that he bought as Aaron checks out all the car’s features, figuring out where every button and switch is. Chris kind of trails off after a while and Aaron glances over the top of the car at him.

“Sorry,” Chris mumbles, averting his eyes. Aaron frowns.

“Hey, sorry if you thought I wasn’t listening,” Aaron says, resting his elbows on the car roof. “I was just checkin’ everything out. What were you saying?”

“Oh, I didn’t think that at all, sorry, I just--” Chris takes a deep breath, but when he starts talking again he seems no less frazzles. “I ramble a lot, like, especially when I’m nervous. Or scared. So, I just-- sorry.”

Nervous. Aaron doesn’t like that, even if it is understandable. “No need to be nervous, I’m a newbie just like you,” he says good-naturedly, fixing Chris with a smile. Chris only seems slightly placated, but he does return the smile, so. Good enough. “Hey, dude. Let’s go be stereotypical cops and get donuts. Take the car out for a spin, y’know?”

Chris’ smile turns a little more genuine, and he agrees. Food is always guaranteed to bring two people together, Aaron decides. Chris is decidedly more quiet on the drive over, staring resolutely at his phone screen even when Aaron can see that he isn’t actually doing anything.

 _So, my partner has social anxiety. Score._ Aaron intents to change that, too. Or at least make it a little better.

The donut shop is busy as usual, so they grab their donuts and their coffee and sit in the cruiser. Aaron’s order: two blueberry crullers and a small coffee, black, no room. Chris’ order: two lemon-filled donuts and a small coffee, light roast, room for cream and sugar. And damn, does he pour the cream and sugar into it.

“Excited for our first day of patrol tomorrow?” Aaron asks, as a solid icebreaker beyond their earlier conversation.

Chris has to finish chewing his bite of donut before he answers. “Ecstatic,” he responds, and it seems somewhere between a joke and the truth. “I think it’ll be fine,” he elaborates. “If nothing else, we just get to know each other better.”

Aaron nods, pleased by his response. “Yeah, dude, that’s the spirit.” They go into the normal small talk, where are you from, how old are you, etcetera. Even though it’s all the regular, Chris slowly begins to loosen up, laugh and smile more, as he realizes that Aaron is actually interested in his rambling. And while Aaron isn’t maybe as forthcoming with information (like, Chris talked for approximately fourteen minutes about the house that he grew up in), he can tell Chris likes to talk, likes to be listened to, but loves listening to other people more.

First patrol day comes all too soon. They pick the Vinewood sign as their first stakeout spot, searching for hikers to spy on. It turns out, however, to be cruelly boring.

“What the fuck,” Aaron mutters under his breath. “Does nobody care about the Vinewood sign anymore?”

Chris chuckles a little. “The newness has worn off,” he laments dramatically, a smile on his face as he waits for Aaron’s response.

“These damn kids and their damn smartphones,” Aaron replies, equally as dramatic. “They can just google pictures of it nowadays, don’t need to come see it.”

“Precisely.”

“Dammit, we look like assholes.” Aaron starts the car, turning down the dirt road and heading for the residential district. Chris placidly accepts it, still amused from Aaron’s feigned outburst. Aaron likes how easy it is to make him laugh.

Aaron knows exactly the place he wants to park-- there’s a house for sale, but the sale price is so ridiculous that nobody has picked it up yet. So, he backs into the driveway, making sure the cruiser is slightly obscured by the nicely trimmed hedges. “Perfect,” he says, mostly to himself, cutting the engine.

“Excellent parking work, Officer Marquis,” Chris remarks.

“Thank you, thank you,” Aaron says, feigning a bow. Chris laughs again. A few moments of silence passes. Aaron shifts slightly in the driver’s seat, taking a sip from his paper coffee cup and addressing Chris without looking at him. “Wouldn’t you like to live up here?”

“Oh, uh, not really? It’s too expensive.”

Aaron nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, true, but if you _did_ have the money?”

Chris considers, staring out the windshield at pedestrians strolling past. “I… I’d like to live in Vespucci, I think. I like the beach.”

“Vespucci’s a nice place, lots of skin to be seen. There’s also that hat shop down there, some nice restaurants.” Aaron takes another drink of his coffee, then sets it back into the cup holder. “I don’t know where I’d pick to live, if I could afford it,” he continues, stretching his arms over his head with a groan. “I live downtown right now, you?”

“Oh, yeah, I do too. Cheapest apartments, and that’s saying something with the $300 a month rent.”

Aaron chuckles, absently checking his phone. “Yeah. Like hell I’d live in South Los Santos, though. You can catch a stray bullet through your window, there.”

There’s a few moments of silence, each of them separately mulling over their own mortality, or something like that. Aaron asks, “Where do you wanna go from here?”

“Here?” Chris repeats. He grins briefly, looking at Aaron. “Donuts would be great, didn’t get any this morning.”

Aaron laughs. He turns his head to look at Chris, expression partly serious. “What I mean is, are you aiming for detective some day? Gonna transfer to narcotics or something like that?”

Chris thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “I dunno, depends on what opportunities open up, I guess. I joined to just… have something to do.” Aaron senses something deeper, surprised that Chris is, for once, the one hesitant to share, fidgeting nervously. “What about you?”

“Eh, detective would be cool, but that’s when you get into the real shit. That’s where the cover-ups happen.”

“Cover-ups?”

“Yeah, patrol and dispatch are thrown out as bullet sponges, human shields, whatever. Detectives sweep it under the rug.” Aaron returns to looking out the windshield. “It’s all bullshit.”

Chris seems a little wrong-footed in the wake of Aaron’s mini-rant about the LSPD, unsure how to respond, switching between glancing at the side of Aaron’s head to down at his lap. Aaron glances at the clock and, upon seeing their shift is almost over, starts up the car so they can make their way back to the station on time.

“Donuts sound pretty good,” Aaron says, eager to dissipate the awkward silence. Chris grins at him.

 

Things settle into a routine. Donuts twice a week, coffee every day, then either drive to the day’s stakeout location or begin their slow circuit around Vinewood Hills. Aaron makes jokes, Chris laughs at them, they reveal personal information in a friendly way. Aaron can feel them growing closer, which is a relief, because _god_ imagine if he had to sit in a car for six hours a day with someone he didn’t like.

And, well, he does like Chris. He’s got a delicate sense of humor, where sometimes he doesn’t get Aaron’s jokes (or doesn’t understand that he’s even joking), but his smile lights up his whole face and sometimes he slaps his knees if Aaron says something especially funny. It’s charming.

Today they’re monitoring a… gathering of sorts. It seems like a block party, but Aaron can’t quite parse what they’re celebrating. Knowing the wealthy that live in Los Santos, it’s probably nothing good. Chris spies liquor, so they sit down the street, mostly because they don’t have anything else to do.

Aaron has already gotten used to mindless chatter, so when silence falls he has to fill it somehow. So, he picks a woman that appears somewhat middle-aged, dressed in leopard print almost from head to toe, and asks Chris, “Smash or pass?”

Chris just so happens to be in the middle of taking a drink, so he makes a weird noise somewhere between a choke and a snort. “ _What_ ,” he responds, once he’s gotten the sip of coffee down.

“Smash or pass?” Aaron repeats. “The woman with the leopard print.”

Chris studies her for a moment, probably trying to get a better look at her. “I’d say… pass if sober, smash if drunk.”

Aaron laughs. “Sounds about right, yeah. Now, you go.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but Aaron sees his eyes flicking between partygoers. He glances at Aaron, then points towards an extremely hairy, well-built man wearing no shirt and shorts that could pass as underwear. He tries to maintain a serious tone as he speaks. “Okay. Him. Smash or pass?”

“Oh, are you kidding? Smash, absolutely.”

Chris breaks out into laughter, covering his mouth with one hand. “Seriously?”

“Well…” Aaron tilts his head, watching as the guy in question shotguns a beer to the delight of the younger women around him. “Maybe if he shaved a bit. Manscaping, ever heard of it?”

“Apparently not, I bet his buddies told him that it looks cool. Women like a _natural man_.” Chris can’t keep from snickering as he says it, nose scrunching up slightly. “Ah, man. It’s probably a pass from me, though.”

“What, you don’t like a _natural man_?” Aaron teases, grinning.

“I think it’s the gold chain, maybe,” Chris says, “or maybe the fact that he’s covered in beer now.”

“Yeah, wasn’t a great shotgunning display.” Aaron pauses, watching as the buff guy walks away with two women shuffling alongside him. “I can do better,” he says then, turning to look at Chris.

“Yeah?” Chris raises an eyebrow, meeting Aaron’s eyes. “You’ll have to show me sometime, then.”

“Then you can do a smash or pass for me, based on my shotgunning abilities.”

“If it’s better than that, it’d definitely be a smash.”

Aaron snorts (and, secretly, is glad his face hasn’t turned red). “Alright, okay. What about neon pink bikini lady here, with her margarita?”

“She’s got nice legs, but-- oh no, is that a mustache?”

“That is a _fuckin_ ’ mustache.”

“I’d smash.”

The end report for the impromptu block party is “many drunk people but only a handful of smashable people”, and there’s just something about glancing over at your partner while typing up an official report and knowing he’d smash a woman with a mustache.

 

“Hey, do you think we’re good at our job?”

Aaron responds with a smile and a joking, “I’d rather not have an existential crisis about my job performance today,” but Chris’ expression is worried, maybe a little upset.

“I mean, we don’t _do_ anything,” Chris elaborates, chewing lightly on his bottom lip. “We drive around and make fun of pedestrians, and eat donuts and drink coffee, but we don’t-- we haven’t written a single citation, or warned anybody about the dangers of hiking alone! What are we doing?”

“We’re doing more than most other officers around here,” Aaron points out, glancing out the window at some passing women chatting amongst themselves. “We do our job, Chris, and our job is to _monitor_. We watch people, and traffic, and if anybody were to actually violate the law we would do something. That’s why we got the rich neighborhood, remember? Nobody does shit up here.”

Chris still looks somewhat disgruntled, shoulders hunched. Aaron sighs and reaches over to squeeze Chris’ shoulder, smiling at him once again. “We’re just doing our job,” Aaron repeats. “I think we’re doing okay.”

Chris returns the smile. “Yeah, okay. I guess I’m just-- I was thinking about it, right, because we have our three month assessment and it’s stressing me out.”

“Trust me, Sorola is going to be thrilled that we haven’t run into anything major.” Aaron returns his attention to his phone, scrolling through Instagram. There is a brief moment of silence before Chris speaks again.

“You still haven’t shotgunned a beer for me.”

“Yeah? You still wanna see that?”

“Of course I do, I need a better demonstration.” Chris pauses, and Aaron looks at him briefly-- he looks somewhat sheepish, nervous, fingers fidgeting. His cheeks are pink.

Aaron raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to ask me out for drinks?”

“Uh, yeah, yes?” Chris’ face is turning redder. Aaron chuckles.

“Alright, sure. We’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Uh, Thursday? Yeah, yeah, we are.”

“Then how about tonight?” Aaron hopes he doesn’t sound embarrassingly excited, but the thing is that there’s truly no better way to get close with someone than getting shitfaced with them. Before Chris has a chance to respond, Aaron follows up with, “We could even just get a couple six-packs and hang out at my place. I doubt the bar will let me shotgun a beer, they’d have to clean it up.”

Chris stammers, struggling for a response as his blush only grows stronger. “I-- at your place?” he eventually manages, looking at Aaron with an expression nearing towards baffled.

“Yeah, then I can pour all the beer I want all over the floor and nobody can yell at me.” Aaron snickers at his own joke, then sighs. “If you’re worried I’m actually a serial killer in disguise, we can go to the bar.”

“No, no, that’s not it, it’s just--” Chris seems to cut himself off, then takes a deep breath. “That sounds great. Do you want me to bring the drinks?”

"I mean, if you want to." Aaron smiles in a way that he hopes is coy. Chris nods, then looks away shyly. Aaron wonders if this is what they call "being forward", but for fuck's sake, the man wants to see him shotgun a beer.

After work, they part ways for the moment-- Aaron heads for his apartment to wedge in some last minute cleaning (gotta make a good impression, right) and Chris heads for the store to purchase some of that sweet cheap-ass beer. Chris texts once he parks in the lot so Aaron can come and collect him.

"Hey," Aaron says with a good natured smile. He wonders if it's horribly obvious that he re-styled his hair. Good impressions.

"Hey," Chris replies, stopping on the sidewalk as Aaron closes the distance. He's carrying two cases of beer, and Aaron takes one of them from him. "Thanks. And, uh, we live in the same building."

"Really? Huh." Aaron chuckles to himself. "How'd we never notice?"

"I dunno, but it's pretty cool, huh. I live in 401," Chris adds, smiling.

"607," Aaron provides, beginning the trek back inside and to the elevator. "Well, good to know. Now we can hang out more, maybe."

"Yeah, maybe. That depends on your shotgunning skills."

They reach Aaron's apartment in no time, and Aaron grimaces as he notices that there's still dirty laundry laying on the floor of the living room, soda cans sitting on the coffee table. Motherfucker.

Chris doesn't seem to notice, instead setting the case of beer he's still holding on the floor beside the couch, then glancing at Aaron awkwardly. "So, do we just--"

"Sure," Aaron says, without letting Chris finish. He sits down on the couch, setting his own case on the coffee table. He frees two of the cans, handing one to Chris. "We'll start out slow, can't shotgun shit right off the bat, right?"

"Right," Chris agrees, smiling. "I-- sorry, by the way, I don't-- I don't go over to people's houses much, I just-- I dunno."

Aaron opens his beer, taking a hearty drink before replying. “No worries, man, just relax. You’re basically just here to watch me pour beer all over myself.”

Chris positively giggles, opening his own beer. Aaron takes a moment to appreciate the sight of his partner in civilian clothing, plain gray t-shirt and jeans with holes at the knees, Converse on his feet. Chris glances back up at him while Aaron’s gaze is lingering on his broad shoulders, t-shirt just tight enough that Aaron can see his muscles, the outlines of his pecs. They share eye contact just a beat too long, and Aaron looks away, almost nervous.

What the hell. They’re just trying to bond over beers. Why is Chris blushing now.

“Time to die,” Aaron announces grandly, placing his actual beer for drinking onto the table and retrieving another to bust open. Chris almost jumps, as if startled out of a trance. Maybe he’d been staring at Aaron’s shoulders too. Aaron doesn’t stop to consider why he wants that to happen.

“Yeah!” Chris says excitedly, watching Aaron carefully as Aaron stands up and steps carefully off of the area rug, standing on the hardwood.

“Okay, watch carefully.” Aaron commences standard shotgunning procedure: bend in the aluminum, press just right with your fingernail, open the top. Beer splatters on the ground before Aaron seals it up with his mouth and then-- immediately chokes, because of course he would. Why would he be able to impress his partner, ever. Why would God give him that chance.

Aaron pulls away, coughing while simultaneously trying to keep the beer from spilling all over the floor. Chris stands up then and approaches, concerned, hands fluttering uselessly as he comes to stand in front of Aaron. He bends over slightly to get a look at Aaron’s now-red face.

“Are you okay?” Chris asks frantically, hands eventually settling on Aaron’s shoulders. Aaron coughs a few more times for good measure, takes in a deep gulp of air, then musters a thumbs up. This doesn’t seem to soothe Chris any, who then ushers Aaron to sit back down on the couch.

“That was depressing,” Aaron says finally, looking at the empty beer can in his right hand. It did, sadly, end up pouring the rest of its contents all over Aaron’s floor and also his right foot. “I have to try again.”

“No, you don’t,” Chris says sternly, keeping one hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

“No, you’re right, _you_ need to try it now,” Aaron says emphatically, reaching for a new can all while Chris protests to his left. “Come on, the master failed, maybe the apprentice can show me a thing or two.”

Aaron holds out the beer can and Chris eyes it warily, then eyes him warily. “Just once,” Aaron says then, and Chris sighs. “Come on, live your frat boy dreams!”

“Okay, okay,” Chris says, standing and taking the can from Aaron. He goes over to roughly where Aaron was, just slightly left of the puddle of foam and liquor that Aaron left behind. He also commences standard shotgunning procedure, rocking his thumbnail back and forth on the aluminum until it breaks through-- and then immediately shouting in pain and dropping the beer can.

“Ow, shit!” Chris yells, now cradling his bleeding hand. Shit. Now there’s more beer on the floor _and_ blood. Not a good look.

“Shit, shit,” Aaron says, hurriedly leading Chris to the bathroom where his first aid supplies are. He turns the tap on so Chris can stick his hands beneath the running water, Chris hissing loudly when the spray hits his fresh injury.

“Beer is killing us,” Chris moans as Aaron hunts for his first aid kit in the cabinet. He eventually produces the supplies he was searching for and places them on the counter, turning the tap off.

“Lemme see,” Aaron says, carefully taking Chris’ injured hand in his. Sure enough, there are two cuts on Chris’ thumb, one deeper than the other and still pouring blood. Aaron makes a face and gets a wad of gauze to place over the wound. “This looks like it might need stitches, shit.”

Chris frowns, watching as Aaron bandages up his thumb. “I think it’ll be okay, it’s just a lot of blood. Unless you happen to know how to sew a wound up.”

Aaron chuckles, placing a piece of tape over the bandage for good measure. He can see a dark spot growing where the wound is still bleeding. “Here, hold your hand above your head,” he says, and even as he gives the direction he’s already doing it for him, sticking Chris’ arm up in the air. Aaron realizes that he’s basically holding Chris’ hand and quickly withdraws.

Chris laughs, shy smile appearing on his face once more. “Thanks,” he says. “The apprentice was, uh, actually a bigger failure than the master. My apologies.”

Aaron snorts. “You tried your best. One day we will attempt again.”

Once Chris’ thumb pretty much stops bleeding, the rest of the night passes unremarkably, with some more beers put away in a normal manner and no more choking or bleeding. Aaron drinks way faster than Chris and, as a result, ends up shitfaced before Chris. He’s sure Chris has some solid blackmail material on him now. Maybe that strengthens the bond. The _partner_ bond. Even if Chris is cute, they’re just _partners_. Yeah. Partners.


	2. the one where they fuck up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back at it again at krispy kreme  
> i was trying to wait to finish ch 3 before posting this but its taking me........ so long............ so heres this lol

Saturday is usually their day off, but apparently, three and a half months into your dedicated patrol qualifies you for “fuck you, you’re working Saturday”. Aaron and Chris’ response is “fuck you, we’re sitting at the donut shop all day”.

“This is what you normally get, right?” Chris asks as he slides back into the passenger’s seat, bag of donuts and drink carrier in his hands. “The blueberry thing?” he elaborates as he hands the bag to Aaron.

“Oh, yeah, the blueberry crullers.” Aaron flashes a bright smile as he retrieves the donuts from the bag, placing them in his lap and handing the bag back over. “Thanks, man. Black coffee too, right?” He gestures to the drink holder as he speaks, and Chris nods, handing his cup over.

“See, that’s friendship,” Aaron continues as Chris pulls his own order out of the bag and crumples it up. “Knowing your partner’s donut and coffee order. We truly are stereotypical police officers.”

“And it feels good,” Chris adds, taking a bite of his own donuts, plain glazed.

“Damn right.” Aaron pauses briefly, then continues with, “Do you think I could shotgun a cup of coffee if I tried hard enough?”

“If you can deal with the second degree burns, then yes.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Aaron complains, taking a sip of his coffee. “I think I could do it.”

Chris chuckles, and they fall into a companionable silence, eating and drinking slowly in the interest of delaying their boring patrol as long as possible. Chris is just about to finish his last donut when their police scanner, usually turned down, crackles to life.

“All units, we’ve got a 211 at the 24/7 store on Clinton,” the dispatcher says on the other end before going into more brief details.

Chris and Aaron lock eyes. A smile spreads across Aaron’s face at the same time Chris begins shaking his head. “Not a _robbery_ , Aaron-- Aaron!”

It’s too late, Aaron has already grabbed the mic. “Hey dispatch, this is Unit 26, we’ll grab that 211,” he says with a grin on his face, peeking at Chris out of the corner of his eye the whole time. Chris looks horrified.

“Aaron,” Chris groans, covering his hands with his face as Aaron puts the mic back and starts the car. “Aaron, I’ve never even shot my gun outside of the firing range. Aaron. We’re going to get killed.”

“It’s just a robbery,” Aaron says easily, pulling out of the donut shop and turning towards Clinton. He pauses for a moment longer than necessary at the stop sign, making eye contact with Chris again as he flips the lights on, siren _bwoop_ ing. “And on a convenience store at that, how bad can it be? It’s probably just a couple punks looking for a quick buck. And so what if they have guns? We do too.”

Chris doesn’t seem convinced, anxiously chewing his lip and fiddling with his belt buckle the whole way over. Aaron’s smile never leaves his face. This is their chance, even if Chris doesn’t see it-- prove themselves, get placed with the bigger patrol squad that goes around the main parts of Vinewood. Get out of the rich people neighborhood. Prove they can handle something a little more dicey than noise complaints. And, while Aaron hadn’t really bore any ill will towards his patrol assignment, when the opportunity presents itself-- well, you take it.

Aaron pulls confidently into the parking lot of the 24/7, eyebrows raising when he sees people sprinting away from the store. And then he sees it.

There’s a big ass black car sitting right in front of the store entrance, windows tinted, a logo printed on the side. It’s not just any car. And it’s not just any logo.

“Aaron,” Chris says quietly, but he sounds terrified-- and rightly so.

“Oh my god,” Aaron says, then repeats it to himself again.

“We can still leave,” Chris says, and his voice is louder, anxiety causing him to yell. “We don’t have to-- Aaron!”

Aaron has already turned the engine off and opened the door, half out of the car already. Chris exits the car also, mostly just so Aaron can still hear his complaints. “We already told dispatch we would get it,” Aaron says, almost irritated. _This is our chance_. “And they already know we’re here, we’ll just make the LSPD into even more of a joke if we just stand out here in the parking lot and argue!”

He marches confidently towards the door, walking around the side of the Roosevelt. Chris follows him hurriedly, face twisted into an expression Aaron can’t quite pin down. Aaron takes a deep breath once he reaches the door and peeks in. He can see four of them, but he knows there’s six, meaning either two are hidden from view or absent all together. Two of them are holding AK-47s. One has grenades strapped to their belt.

Aaron swallows hard, then kicks open the door, aiming his gun at the cohort. “Police! Drop your weapons!”

Unfortunately, there isn’t much of a reaction among the criminals. A couple of them turn to look at him, but one is honest to god looking at their phone-- in the middle of a _robbery_ \-- and the other one is still threatening the cashier.

“I said, drop your weapons!” Aaron repeats, and this time the one at the till takes notice.

“For fuck’s sake, can someone take care of that?” the man yells, obviously irritated. That is when the others advance on him-- and Chris, Aaron notices, who has been lingering in the doorway with his gun also drawn.

Aaron realizes he’s going to have to shoot one of them at the same time he gets his gun roughly snatched away from him. He lets out a noise of protest, scrabbling with the bigger man for a few beats before he is shoved against a display case, wire rack digging into his ribs unpleasantly as he falls to the ground. Chris is disarmed much more easily by a shorter, wiry man and is then shoved by the same person who shoved Aaron, landing on the ground hard. Aaron reaches for his walkie only to realize he didn’t pin it to his vest before entering the store. Shit.

Aaron doesn’t know what to _do_. They don’t tell you how to deal with the fucking Fake AH Crew in police academy, no matter if they’re the biggest crew around or not. LSPD is notorious for not being able to stop these assholes. Besides, hearing Chris hyperventilating beside him has the odd effect of only making him more terrified. The tall man he fought briefly with before has fixed them with a critical eye, eyes shining from behind his mask. Aaron maintains eye contact, finding his own breaths coming short and fast.

“Thank you for your business,” Aaron hears the man at the till saying as he takes the sack of money from the obviously scared cashier. “Let’s roll.”

Aaron and Chris both nearly jump out of their skin when the man produces a pistol from somewhere within his tailored suit and shoots the cashier square in the forehead despite their broken, terrified pleas. He begins to leave the store when another short man stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Geoff, what should we do about those two?”

_Great question_ , Aaron thinks. He feels something against his arm and realizes that Chris’ hand has closed around his forearm, grip tight.

This man, Geoff, fixes them with a look. He is notably unmasked, which Aaron had not realized before. His expression is rather placid, uninterested in them despite their uniforms. “Leave ‘em,” Geoff says. “I’ll deal with it later.”

The statement is almost worse than if he had just popped them both in the head. Aaron sits, still frozen with fear as the crew files out: first Geoff, then the short man who spoke to him before, the other skinny man, and the tall one. Aaron stares at the vacated space for a few long moments.

“The cashier,” Chris croaks.

Oh my god, the cashier.

Aaron stands to his feet only when the sound of the Roosevelt’s engine has faded. He makes his way to the till to the sight of the dead cashier, making an face. He realizes while he’s on his way out to the car that that’s the first dead body he’s seen, but that’s not his concern right now.

“What the hell are we going to tell the police chief,” Aaron grumbles angrily as he practically throws himself into the driver’s seat, not even bothering to close the door as he grabs for his walkie, sitting exactly where he left it in the console. “Dispatch, this is Unit 26. Officer Demarais and I engaged the suspects but they escaped in a black Roosevelt. We are in pursuit. There is one fatality at the store.”

There is a crackle on the other end, and then a voice that is definitely not the dispatcher comes back. “Don’t bother,” Chief Sorola says. “We know who the hell it was. Come back to the station to file your report.”

Aaron swallows, taking a few moments to steel himself before responding. “Understood.”

Chris has made it back to the car by now, but he hasn’t gotten in yet. Aaron ducks down to look at-- well, not his face, but at least more of him. He gestures for Chris to get in, and he does, wiping furiously at his face.

“Are you crying?” Aaron asks, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out angry, but it does.

Chris looks hurt, and he meets Aaron’s anger with his own. “Yes, I fucking am, because we basically just almost died. Actually I think we are practically dead, because Geoff fucking Ramsey is going to fucking _kill us anyway_!”

“What were we supposed to do?” Aaron responds, twisting to look squarely at Chris.

“I don’t know, maybe try shooting at them?” Chris shoots back, gesturing vaguely at the store.

“We have fucking Glocks, they were carrying _machine guns_!”

“Well! We could’ve tried!” Chris lets out a long exhale, slumping back into his seat and letting his head bounce against the headrest. “We’re fucking dead, Aaron.”

Aaron lets himself deflate as well, trying to shake off the adrenaline. His coffee from earlier is still sitting in the cup holder. He sighs. “Let’s… let’s not yell at each other, okay?”

Chris turns his head to look at Aaron, eyes filled with tears again as he nods. “Yeah, let’s not.”

Aaron reaches out to pat Chris’ shoulder, and Chris catches his hand, squeezing it. He still has a bandaid around his thumb.

Chris is right, they are dead.

 

They return to the station with… actually, no greeting from anyone else, beyond their fellow graduates that they see on their way to the chief’s office. The station is generally very quiet, even dispatch. Aaron doesn’t know if that’s good or not.

Chief Sorola’s door is open, but Aaron still knocks on it. The chief is sitting in his chair, obviously expecting them based on the way he quickly rises to meet them, then closes the door behind them.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he says seriously, the instant Aaron and Chris sit down. Aaron had considered lying, but there’s no point. They don’t have any dead crew members to show for their efforts, only a dead civilian. So, they do, recounting every detail they can remember. The chief doesn’t look any less tense after they’re finished.

“I want to make it clear,” Chief Sorola begins, and Aaron tenses, “that you are not in any trouble. Nobody has been able to catch those bastards, I certainly didn’t expect recent graduates to do so.”

Aaron breathes a sigh of relief, exchanging a look with Chris. “However,” the chief continues, “I do have to reprimand you for acting outside of your district. We put you up in Vinewood Hills for a reason, to keep you out of trouble. You weren’t supposed to engage the Fake AH Crew, for god’s sake.”

“We didn’t know it was them,” Aaron says, and his voice manages to stay even. He notices that his hands are shaking. “If we had, we wouldn’t have responded to it.”

“If you had known, you absolutely would have responded to it,” Chief Sorola counters, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “You would’ve seen it as your chance, your big break. Anyone would’ve. And I can’t fault you for that.”

Aaron figures it’s better not to tell him that that was his line of thinking in the first place. Fat lot of good that did them. “But,” the chief stands, and after a moment Aaron and Chris stand as well, “that’s all I’ve got to say to you both. Go do your paperwork and head home early, you deserve it.”

Aaron and Chris both nod, departing the chief’s office with simple farewells. They pause just down the hallway, and damn-- if Aaron’s shaking, then Chris is just about falling apart, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, putting his hands on Chris’ shoulders. “We’re gonna be okay, dude.”

“I know,” Chris replies, and god, he sounds like he’s about to cry. Again. “I’m just scared, Aaron. He didn’t leave us alive for no reason, he’s gonna-- he’s gonna do _something_ to us.”

_I know_ , he wants to say. Aaron is also fucking terrified. But he has to be the okay one-- or, well, the slightly okayer one. “We’re going to be fine,” Aaron says fiercely, gripping Chris’ shoulders tighter. “We’ll come at them with bigger guns next time, dude. We’ll beat the shit out of them.”

Chris smiles despite himself, reaching up to grab Aaron’s shoulders in turn. It morphs into a hug, not an awkward brohug but an embrace between two people who almost died together, today. _And it was basically my fault_ , Aaron can’t help but think, while Chris turns his face into the side of Aaron’s neck.

They part with a few good pats on the back and Chris seems a little more put together. They share a smile before departing to their separate desks to do their separate incident reports. For now, Aaron tries to ignore the fact that they’re totally fucked.

 

Aaron sleeps like shit for a solid four days, plagued with the startled, rabbit-fast heartbeat that comes with being, god forbid, scared of the fucking dark. Tree branches thump on his bedroom window, his neighbors hit the wall for whatever godforsaken reason, his brain materializes silhouettes out of shadows. He is dead on his fucking feet at work and it’s killing him, slowly but surely.

“You look rough, dude,” Chris says, even with his own dark smudges underneath his eyes. “Not sleeping well?”

Aaron shakes his head, yawn appearing for emphasis. He shuts the car door and sits there for a long while, fingers hooked around the bottom of the steering wheel. “I kind of wish he had killed us, y’know?” he says, quietly. Maybe subconsciously he’s hoping Chris won’t hear it, but of course he does. The squad car is too small a space.

“Yeah,” Chris replies, equally as quiet, soft. Scared, like he always is now. Aaron hates it. “I’m sick of it already, and it’s only been a week,” he continues, louder this time. “It’s like my whole life is being spent wondering when the hammer’s gonna come down.”

Aaron nods, letting his head fall to the side so he can look at Chris. Chris is looking forward, out through the windshield, maybe purposefully avoiding Aaron’s eyes. Aaron takes a deep breath and says, “I’m sorry.”

Chris turns to look at him then, expression unreadable. “It wasn’t your fault,” he starts to say, but Aaron cuts him off with a hand wave.

“It is my fault, you can say it, I’m sure you’ve been thinking it,” he says quickly, maybe a little too passive aggressive. Chris’ expression doesn’t change. “So, I’m sorry.”

Chris chews the inside of his lip, clearly unsure of what to say. “I don’t think it was your fault,” he says finally, looking away from Aaron, down at his hands. “I think maybe it was… poor judgment, sure, or whatever Chief probably thinks it is, but we didn’t know it was them.” He looks back at Aaron now, taking a deep breath. “And I’m sorry that we argued about it. I was just scared.”

Aaron nods. “Yeah, I get it, dude. No worries.” He reaches over to pat Chris on the shoulder reassuringly. “We’re going to be okay,” he says, for what seems like the thousandth time this week. He’s not sure which one of them he’s trying to convince anymore.

Saturday is a generous day off, no doubt gifted to them by the chief, and Aaron takes the opportunity to chill the hell out in bed forever. Or, at least, he would’ve, had heavy knocks not fallen on his door at around noon.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mumbles to himself, completely intending on just ignoring it, but whoever’s at the door knocks again. For a moment he forgets, but as he’s getting out of bed he wonders if maybe it’s Geoff Ramsey. His heart skips a beat or two (or three).

No point in hiding. Ramsey will catch up with him sooner or later.

Aaron unlocks his front door and pulls it open with maybe a little more force than necessary, revealing--

“Oh, Barb!” Aaron says, pleasantly surprised to see her grinning face. “I wasn’t expecting you, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, just wanted to bring you thiiiiis,” she singsongs, producing a big bag of funsized candy bars from behind her back. “You can share them with Chris too, if you want.”

“Awesome!” Aaron gladly takes the bag from her, stepping aside so she can enter. “How’ve you been? I feel like we haven’t talked since graduation.”

“I’ve been fine, can’t seem to get a moment of free time though. You?” Barb rubs her eyes lazily, kicking her shoes off and heading straight for the couch, sprawling out on it.

Aaron joins her, and Barb puts her feet in his lap. “I’m alive. I’m sure you heard.”

Barb smiles in a way that Aaron guesses is supposed to convey pity, or sympathy, or maybe both. It’s kind of like a grimace. “Yeah. Everyone’s heard. Not just because it’s the newbie team that got caught up in it but just because… y’know, they haven’t been out and about in almost a year.”

Aaron nods, looking down at Barb’s pizza socks resolutely. “I just…” he begins, trying to puzzle out what he wants to say. He eventually settles on, “I’m bummed about it,” with a sad look in Barb’s direction.

“I know, dude. But, I have to applaud the guts, y’know? Most people assigned to patrol wouldn’t even bother responding to a robbery out of their district. You’re showing potential, my dude.”

Aaron tries to decide if Barb is just trying to make him feel better. “Thanks,” he says lamely, sinking back into the couch.

“But, hey,” Barb says, tone lighter now as she sits upright, “I didn’t come here to talk about work. I came here to play video games and eat junk food.”

“These plans are news to me,” Aaron says, smirking.

“What else do we ever do?” Barb asks in response, already standing and heading for Aaron’s shelf of video games.

“Great point. I’ll get the chips.”

 

If Aaron’s being honest, it’s refreshing hanging out with someone who isn’t his partner, but over the weekend he, oddly, feels himself missing Chris. Even though they are only apart for two days, Aaron is worried-- he has people like Barb and Blaine who will check up on him, distract him, whatever, but Chris has never mentioned any other friends, any social contact outside of the time he spends in the cruiser and at the station.

Of course, Aaron realizes that he and Chris have only known each other personally for roughly four months, and as acquaintances only for a year and a half, but Chris is easy to read. His reactions to things and his personality itself suggests to Aaron that, while Aaron can shove it out of his head, this whole thing with the Fakes is probably kicking the shit out of Chris.

So. The text is sent.

_wanna watch me pour beer all over my floor again?_

_Hell yea dude_

Chris is over within the hour. He looks no worse for wear, all things considered, and smiles brightly at Aaron when he answers the door. For a moment, it catches up to Aaron-- they really could have died, together, in that fucking convenience store. He can’t stop himself from pulling Chris into a hug, squeezing him tight.

“Sorry,” Aaron mumbles before he’s fully pulled away.

“What are you sorry for?” Chris asks softly, hand curiously lingering on Aaron’s arm. “It’s okay to hug people, Aaron.”

“Yeah, I know,” Aaron replies. He pauses for a moment, then sighs. “We almost died, dude.”

Chris smiles somewhat sadly. “I know. We will probably still die, if we’re being honest.”

“You’re right.”

“Let’s get drunk.”

Aaron leads the way to the kitchen, where the fridge still holds an ice-cold six pack from the last time Chris was here. And sure, maybe they’ll just drink these beers like normal people instead of hurting themselves, but that’s still a perfectly fine way of bonding.

If Aaron’s being honest with himself, he’ll admit that having Chris over is just as much for his benefit as it is for Chris’. Aaron wants to make sure Chris is fine, of course, but Aaron just doesn’t want to be alone. In the back of his mind, he’s always waiting for the phone call, the knock on the door, the bullet through the window. He’s sure Chris is too.

“Do you think we’ll ever hang out like normal people, without alcohol involved?” Chris asks jokingly, carrying the six pack to the living room. Aaron follows, seating himself on the sofa.

“What are you saying, normal people _can’t_ hang out without alcohol. We’d be weird if we didn’t.” Aaron responds, grinning. Chris laughs, sitting beside Aaron. “Besides, I’d hardly call Bud Light alcohol.”

Chris gives a noncommittal shrug, conceding his position on ‘normal’ hanging out. Aaron pops the tab on his beer can and takes a long drink. Yeah, beer is hardly alcohol-- it doesn’t burn the same way whiskey does, doesn’t warm the insides. It doesn’t mean that Aaron can’t get completely smashed off of it, however. Honestly, that’s what he intends to do, patrol tomorrow be damned.

They end up watching reruns of some comedy show on TV, drinking going from large gulps to light sips until they run out. And then Aaron goes for the whiskey.

“Aaron,” Chris says, concern in his tone as Aaron heads back from the kitchen, “do you think that’s a good idea?”

No, not really. “Yeah, dude, why not?”

“Uh, we have to go to work tomorrow?” Chris shifts to face Aaron as he sits back down on the couch. The smell of beer on Chris’ breath fans over Aaron’s face as he speaks. “And I don’t want you to be sick.”

The shift from concern over their mutual job to Aaron’s personal health strikes him some sort of way. He’s still holding the whiskey bottle by the neck, but he turns to look at Chris and sighs. Sweet Chris, lovely Chris, too worried about everything. _He doesn’t deserve to die_. Without really thinking about it, Aaron says, “Don’t leave.”

Chris blinks at him. “Huh?”

“Stay here tonight, you can sleep on the couch,” Aaron says, setting the whiskey aside in favor of grabbing Chris’ hands. Chris’ expression is soft, somewhat baffled but kind nonetheless. He curls his fingers lightly around Aaron’s hands.

“Okay,” Chris says, smiling a little. “I’ll keep you from dying.”

“Thanks, dude.”

They go back to their comedy reruns, this time with Aaron taking swigs straight from the whiskey bottle and Chris periodically reminding him to stop. He eventually does, once Chris physically takes the bottle away from him and puts the cap back on it. Aaron’s brain thinks it’s a great idea to pout and whine about his stolen liquor. Chris smiles at him and replaces Aaron’s now empty hand with his own, squeezing tight.

“It’s late,” Chris remarks, pulling his feet up onto the couch. Aaron turns to look at him, brain processing everything slowly, all foggy and swimmy.

“How late,” Aaron mumbles.

“Like, almost two in the morning.”

Aaron groans, pressing his face into Chris’ shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep,” he mumbles into Chris’ shirt, still holding onto his hand.

“Right here?”

“Right here,” Aaron repeats.

Chris shifts to lean against the couch’s arm rest, Aaron following to practically lay on top of Chris. Aaron waves his hand behind him, in the vague direction of the back of the couch, in search of the blanket that rests there. He vaguely registers Chris laughing at him before Chris successfully locates the blanket and pulls it over them both.

Aaron closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on Chris’ chest rising and falling steadily with his breaths, the thump of his heartbeat within. _Maybe we’ll be safe together_.


End file.
